bring on the wonder
by thatiranianphantom
Summary: Eliza is a Schuyler. She's a Schuyler with pride. That is, until she finds the stowaway on her father's ship and suddenly everything's different. Based on the prompt: "i'm so sorry i've been stowing away on your ship but i'm lonely and tired and starving with nowhere to go so please take pity on my poor soul bc you're the sweetest pirate i have ever met and since we're in
1. On The Surface

A/N: Don't shoot! I promise the next chapter of Hold Me 'Till It Sleeps is coming. But without giving stuff away, it's tough to write and it's taken some time.

So this came about as I pooped around on the internet (Lin-ism) for au prompts. It's kind of been a challenge to me, in three major ways:

This won't be above three chapters. Three is my maximum.

Dialogue has always been a challenge for me so I wanted to challenge myself to write some good dialogue.

THIS IS THE MOST HARLEQUIN SCHMALTZY CRAP EVER THIS ISN'T ME

I'm keeping me-ish elements in it though (an inability to finish things, some Alexander whump, and some various angsty scenarios).

So anyway, enjoy, leave a comment, tell me what you think!

Based off this prompt: "i'm so sorry i've been stowing away on your ship but i'm lonely and tired and starving with nowhere to go so please take pity on my poor soul bc you're the sweetest pirate i have ever met and since we're in the middle of the ocean now there's no way you're taking me back to land anytime soon" au "i would be furious at you for stowing away on my ship if it weren't for the fact that you look really sick and sad can i help you" au

I just cut out the pirate stuff.

 **I woke up this morning with a burning in my soul** **  
** **Morning air, it hit me like it's never done before** **  
** **I woke up this morning with a turning in my bones** **  
** **All the things that I can change, never let go**

To be rich in this era means you were doing something right. At least, that's what Eliza's father always said.

Her mother had died giving birth to Peggy, and her father "raised" them. Or so he said, though he was rarely around, and the raising was primarily done by nannies, all of which he would fire if the children became too attached to them. Thus, the girls always pretended not to like their nannies around their fathers.

The sisters were now too old for nannies, but they had never lost contact with their favorite. Martha still invited them into her home whenever they wanted, and sometimes Eliza went simply to feel the warmth of a _home_ , not just a house.

Philip Schuyler decidedly looked down on anyone not of his stature in society. He had a legacy to protect, and his daughters were expected to uphold this.

He had arranged a marriage between her older sister Angelica and a rich heir, John Church. She knew well that Angelica didn't actually like the man, didn't hate him but certainly didn't love him, but this marriage was a requirement, as the oldest.

Eliza was also expected to marry rich, so at 18, she was savoring every day that she didn't need to spend with an rich, controlling old man.

Lest it seem like their father was a monster, Eliza knows he _does_ love them. He may have trouble expressing it, yes, but he did. He made sure they were cared for, educated, and grew into functional adults to the best of his ability. It hadn't been easy for him. His mother was the only woman he ever loved, and the fact that he still raised three girls, who were constant reminders of their mother, after her death, did say something about him.

Eliza took care to keep that in mind, when thinking of her father.

But back to that day.

When they went out, they were expected to notify their father and go back to the house immediately after they finished whatever it was they had to do. However, today, all her efforts to contact her father had been in vain, so she made her way down to the shipping yard in hopes (well, perhaps not hopes) of catching him. Her father sometimes inspected the newer ships to see what kind of a profit he could turn from selling them, but there were only two new ones and he was in neither of them.

She searched for what she estimated was about thirty minutes, all in vain.

Finally, she came to the end of the dock and glanced at a towering, ratty older ship. Hiking her dress' skirts up and stepping carefully off the pier, she made her way onboard, resolving if she couldn't find her father here, she'd just go home and deal with whatever punishment came from "not respecting him enough to let him know where she has been off to".

The ship was quiet as she made her way around. Its cavernous emptiness actually seemed rather calm, as it gently swayed to the beat of the waves. She was about to leave when her foot suddenly hit something hard and she slipped. With a yelp, she hit the floor.

Her dress was dusty, but not ripped, she noted with gratitude. She cast an eye back to the offending object she had stumbled over. As it turned out, she had tripped over someone's outstretched leg, which was quickly yanked back among a stream of "oh god oh fuck what the fuck nobody was supposed to ever come in here."

Picking herself up and dusting off her dress, she rounded the corner to come face to face with a young man, about her age.

His brown eyes rose to meet hers.

He was filthy, gaunt, his clothes raggedy and threadbare.

His hair was long, pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

His brown eyes were wide with fear, his skinny limbs frantically trying to gather his meager belongings.

He seemed to have made his home in a shipping container. A few blankets were laid out on the floor; some books were stored in the corner.

Not a great first impression, even for a stowaway.

Nor, really, were his first words, angrily thrown at her while scrambling up from the floor.

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?"

She drew back. "Excuse me, who are you to talk to me like that? You're the one on my father's ship."

His eyes widened. "Your father's…oh _shit_. Oh shit. This wasn't supposed to happen, I was supposed to be undetectable here, I'm gonna kill Mulligan."

The young man raked a hand through his dark hair, his fingers trembling as he continued to gather his belongings.

Despite not knowing the first thing about this young man, Eliza stepped closer to her.

The Schuyler sisters had lived a very sheltered life. She was almost ashamed to admit she had never met someone who held so little social status. This young man was living on a boat, held all of his possessions in one shipping container, and likely didn't even have a job.

In her father's world, these things were unheard of.

She figured nobody could blame her for wondering why a young man was living on her father's oldest ship.

She raised a hand and plucked at the shoulder of his pathetic coat.

"Why are you living in my father's ship?"

He scoffed.

"Not all of us can afford five houses, princess. I was just trying to survive. Happens I don't have to pay rent."

Eliza's brow furrows in indignation.

"You're hardly in a position to be speaking that way to me, don't you think? I mean, I could get you arrested with one sentence to basically anyone here. And you could deny it, but whose word do you think they'd believe?"

His eyebrows rise in shock. "Not bad, princess. Solid bluff. Maybe I underestimated you."

"You absolutely did, and don't call me princess. I'm hardly royalty, and I have a name."

"Ah yes, one of the famed Schuylers. I'm guessing you're Angelica?"

That stung, for reasons she didn't quite understand. Perhaps it was because inside, she was painfully aware that she'd never be like her fiery, confident sister, much as she might like to be. She'd also never have the adorable, exuberant energy of her youngest sister.

She'd never be Peggy. She'd never be Angelica. She'd forever be the boring, unremarkable middle sister, destined to be forgotten.

But middle sister or not, she was still a Schuyler, and she was not going to let this transient stranger speak to her in way she knew her father would never allow.

"Sorry to disappoint. Elizabeth Schuyler. And again, I would remind you to watch your tongue, lest you say something that might get you in trouble.

"Few years too late for that."

He sighs. His gaze softens.

For the first time since she's seen him, he looks young. Young and scared.

"Look, just don't tell your father, okay? I'll be out in an hour, I'll figure out some place to sleep. Gonna be a longer commute to work, but…."

"Wait, you _work_ here?"

"Yeah. Oh, sorry, the princess can't be seen talking to the commoner. Best leave. I promise I'll be out soon."

Eliza scoffed and jutted her hip out, hoping her posture radiated a confidence she never really felt.

"No chance of that. I caught you, but you weren't supposed to be here in the first place. My father doesn't offer free room and board to his employees."

She scans his "living quarters" and finds a pile of books stacked in the corner. Stepping delicately to avoid whatever dirty fabric was laid out on the ground, she knelt by them.

Voltaire. Locke. Socrates. Several old editions of US treaties.

This man, whoever he was, he was learned.

She ran her fingers over the spines longingly.

She and her sisters were women, and women of high social status. They had never had cause to be educated formally, but oh, how she had wished for it.

She longed to lose herself in the pages of books, to be able to learn about the world, to know the workings of such great minds, to explore the realms that lived in the pages of such books.

She had even asked her father a few times, but had only been met with the assurances that she was never to need such knowledge to be a prominent wife and mother.

She felt the man come up behind her, jolting her back to the present.

To her surprise, his expression was soft when he looked at her.

"You like to read?" he asked.

Bending down, he picked up a particularly battered volume, flipped it open to a well-worn page.

"This one's my favorite," his tone was delicate, like he was sharing a secret with her.

She sighed, tracing a finger over the lettering of a US Treatise.

"I can read but I've never…I mean…my father never allowed it."

She wonders why she's telling him this, a total stranger.

His expression changes into one of shock.

"Never allowed it? But that's…Voltaire; he is one of the greatest minds of our time! How can it be that your father didn't allow you to know such magnificent thoughts?"

His expression holds pity, and that is something that seems patently ridiculous, given their situation.

Eliza pulled herself into a standing position, dusted off her dress, tried to regain some composure.

 _I am a Schuyler. I am a Schuyler. I am above this man._

"I suppose it was because, unlike some, I have a future," she shot back, and watched his expression drop.

"Yeah well, like I said, give me an hour and you can pretend I never existed. Just don't tell anyone."

"How could I not?" she asks, more of a tease than anything else. For some reason, she likes getting under this man's skin. She likes causing a reaction in him. She likes that expression of surprise when he realized she was not just a spoiled little rich girl.

Probably without even realizing what he's doing, he grabs her hand and looks her straight in the eye, his expression pleading.

" _Please_ , Miss Schuyler. He may…this is strictly illegal. He could kill me, or…" his expression darkens, his eyes haunted.

"They might send me back. _Please_ don't tell him."

The expression in his eyes is so earnest, so sincere, that Eliza's breath catches in her throat.

This man, he was everything her father had taught her to avoid. And yet there was something behind his eyes, something mysterious that Eliza couldn't help but want to unlock.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

"Alright. I won't tell."

The relief on his face is palpable. Eliza soaks up the expression for a moment.

"On one condition."

 _I am a Schuyler. I am a Schuyler._

"What? I haven't got any money to pay you with, obviously."

"I don't want your money. I want to learn."

He blinks in shock.

"What?"

She sweeps her hand over to the corner to indicate the books.

"You know things, things I don't. Things that are in these books. I want to learn."

His expression doesn't change from one of absolute shock. She understands why. In society, she would not even look at him; much less say one word to him. And now she, a high society Schuyler sister, wants to be learning from him?

But this space, it feels secretive. Spirited away, where she can know what she always longed to without anyone finding out.

This man, he has a reason to keep this a secret, as much as she does. It is an ideal scenario, for what it is.

"You…want me to teach you?"

A nod.

"And if I do that…you won't tell?"

"If you do, I won't tell."

There's a long pause, as she sees him turning the idea over in his mind.

"Okay."

She starts coming two days later, twisting her fingers together in nervousness she doesn't really understand.

Then comes back two more days that week.

They start to develop a routine, regular days where they do this, the best route to take to the ship so that Eliza is not caught.

Most days, they sit with their backs against the back of the shipping container that is Alexander's home.

Oddly, Eliza finds it warmer than her own home.

They sit and they talk.

("Of course _all men_ _are created equal_ means women too, Eliza! Men is just a blanket term for all people. I don't deny that Thomas Jefferson is an ass, however.")

Sometimes she brought things with her. A pillow here and there, a blanket that may have actually had a wash in the last century, some scraps of food she'd pilfered from the kitchen.

She would ask questions sometimes, but mostly she would just listen to Alexander talk.

When he talked about what he read, his eyes lit up. His body came alive. His hands gesticulated furiously.

They started on opposite ends of the crate.

Well, Eliza sat herself down on the opposite end to him their first session, and Alexander had scoffed but let it go.

By their fourth session, they had moved to the same wall.

She sat beside him eight sessions in (still with a wide berth, however).

He was an incredible teacher. The words of those he taught her about came alive in front of her, and Eliza had never been more opposed to the fact that women of her stature were not given formal education.

What Angelica could have done if she'd been allowed to go to school, she thinks?

For now, she is contented to soak up all this new knowledge. This new experience. This new person.

So, for now, she gives him a wide berth.

Of course, that doesn't last forever.

 **If the world only knew what I could do**

 **They would be astounded**

 **If the world only knew what I could do**

 **I would be surrounded**

 **If the world only knew what I could do**

 **Maybe I'd be free**

 **And they would see so much more in me**


	2. Two Shores

Aaaannnnddd chapter 2! Still schmaltzy Harlequin crap. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! This is only three chapters. I am making a rule for myself. SELF, YOU WILL OBEY.

 **It's something unpredictable**

 **But in the end it's right**

Faithfully, she doesn't mention anything to her father. He's blessedly absent most of the time, and she tells her sisters she is going to the market, or the library, or to search for father.

She's come up with a multitude of excuses by this point. She's used to lying to her father, but she hates lying to her sisters.

As previously mentioned, Alex usually sits next to her. For the longest time, this was without complication.

Then she came on one stormy Thursday for their usual lesson.

It should be noted that for being an immigrant stowaway, Alexander was remarkably confident as a person. 

She had never seen him doubt himself, not once.

Well, not once until that stormy Thursday.

Almost like it was nature's way of reminding them that they were on a ship, the craft tossed in the waves. The thunder rumbled above them, and Eliza arrived to find Alexander tense, grabbing his knees with this arms.

He insisted he was fine. But Eliza had been through many lessons with this man, and today he was distracted.

"Alex, are you okay?" she asked again.

" _Fine,_ Eliza. Now where were we?"

At that moment, a crack of thunder pounded and Alex dropped the book with a squeak. An actual squeak, followed by him shimmying to the corner and curling up against it, making himself as small as possible.

Eliza is stunned. She crawls near him, puts a gentle hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Alex, what's wrong?" 

"Hurricane," he gasps out.

Eliza is confused.

It's just a storm, and a small one at that. Hurricane is a bit of an overexaggeration.

"Alex, it's just a little thunderstorm," she soothes, running a hand over his hair as a mother would, taking no mind of the fact that they have never been this close before.

His head shakes.

"Eliza," he gasps, turning to face her. His eyes are wide, panicked. Not the eyes she knew.

The ship tosses in the storm and Alexander practically wails with fear.

He is not a young man, capable of caring for himself here.

No, here, Eliza sees the little boy he was.

She wraps him in her arms, surprised when his head pillows into her chest.

"Eliza, my mother is dead. The hurricane, it…destroyed everything. I couldn't seem to die."

The words are nonsensical, but something inside her says Alexander tells nobody about this, that these words carry great significance to him.

The storm clears thirty minutes later, and Alexander tells her to leave, feigning a headache, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

But she tells herself right then and there; he won't be alone in a storm anymore.

(Maybe she's not just talking about the weather).

It's why she's there in the middle of the night a week later, Alexander sobbing in her arms while the ship churns violently in the waves, clutching her tightly, lost to the past.

It may seem like their entire relationship was built on sadness and ghosts of the past, but it never seemed so to Eliza.

In fact, Alexander made her laugh more than anyone she had met before.

He clearly wasn't a fan of Thomas Jefferson, nor James Madison, and the mocking, high-pitched voice he affected during their lessons on US constitution had her wiping tears from her eyes at some points.

( _And the way he_ dressed _. God, Eliza, I don't think I'd have been able to look him in the eyes without laughing right in his face_ ).

Alexander wasn't like anyone she had ever met, and that thought introduced a seed of doubt into Eliza's mind. What could life have been if she wasn't a Schuyler, if she had been raised with people like Alexander?

What could she have known?

Who could she have been?

As it happens now, Alexander strikes up odd sensations in her. Sensations she doesn't have a name for.

They never talk about his reactions to storms, but she makes sure she's always there, and he buries his face in her shoulder, sobs like a little boy, murmurs something about his mother, and then kicks her out with cheeks flaming after the storm passes.

Sometimes she thinks he doesn't want her there in those times, but when she comes he is always in a corner, with his knees clutched to his chest, his eyes wild and searching.

When she opens her arms, he dives into them.

He seems to be two people in those times.

He grabs her hands sometimes, in a passionate tirade about whatever today's lesson is, and her cheeks heat instantly. He doesn't seem to notice.

She doesn't know what to make of him, until the day that he halts their lesson early, six weeks into their arrangement.

He closed the book gently, set it down.

Eliza looks at him in confusion. They usually go longer, and she knows it.

"Eliza…." He seemed unable to spit out what he wanted to say, which was a surprise, because she found Alexander Hamilton to be nothing if not an orator.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

She's surprised.

Incrementally, she leans closer. Besides a few scraps of food and a pillow here and there, she doesn't really think she's done anything for him.

"For what?" she asks.

"I don't know. Being here. Treating me like a human. You're…you're nothing like people would expect."

"What do you mean?" she can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe she's horribly boring, and he's finally telling her so.

"I mean…you're just different. You're kind, and interesting…"

She scoffs. "I'm not the interesting one, Alexander. You've got me confused with Peggy or Angelica."

He shakes his head with a soft "no."

"No, Eliza. It's you. You're a lot of things you don't think you are."

:She's not, not at all.

"Like what?"

He shrugs, right up against her shoulder, and she's suddenly very aware of their proximity.

"Smart. Thoughtful. Interesting. Beautiful."

"Really?" she whispers, letting her face lean in close to his.

He looks at her with the most earnest expression, like every word he said was what he believed in his heart.

"I…didn't have much. Then I met you, and you…you changed something inside me."

The words fill her with that sensation, the one she can't describe.

It happens before she can think about it.

The touch of their lips is soft at first, but it heats before she fully processes that she's kissing Alexander Hamilton, the stowaway ship worker she found living in one of her father's ships.

And it's good.

It's really good.

Their lips and tongues tangle, and before she realizes it, she's on the floor of the crate and Alexander is on top of her and every nerve ending is on fire, every neuron is screaming.

They break apart when the ship gives an unfortunately timed lurch, and they are both brought back to the present.

After that, they both silently accept that they are done for the day. She leaves and he doesn't try to kiss her goodbye. For some reason, that disappoints her.

She walks home that day, her mind racing.

She had kissed Alexander Hamilton.

She is a Schuyler.

She spends more and more time with him.

She is a Schuyler.

He is on her mind almost constantly.

They don't talk about it the next time.

But he sits close enough that his shoulder chafes against hers.

His name is John Alexander Sharpe.

(She almost laughs at the middle name).

He works in a trading company.

(Rather, he owns the company).

He is one of her father's best business partners.

He is forty-two years old.

She is eighteen now, her father tells her. A proper age.

He is who her father wants her to marry.

Her heart drops to her feet.

She thought she had more time.

Philip leaves them alone together. He scoots in close to her, clamps a hand on her knee without permission, drones on and on about the future of this arrangement while his hand strokes her thigh.

She fights the urge to vomit, or cry, or both.

When she lets him out of the house, after what feels like an eternity, he whirls around suddenly and seizes her face, crushing his lips against hers.

And there and then, Eliza sees the rest of her life.

Being controlled by this man. Being expected to do whatever he would like. Their first child would be born whenever he deemed it an appropriate time. She would not be able to leave the house without his permission. She would be a prisoner in her own life.

Angie, she had gotten lucky. For how boring John Church was, he was rarely around and didn't try to tamper Angelica's fiery personality.

This man would.

He may not be a cruel man, but he had expectations for Eliza.

And she…she had been stupid enough to think she had the choice between the life she was born into and a life she actually wanted.

Because, after all,

 _She is a Schuyler._

Father blessedly goes to work that night.

Eliza slips out the first second she can.

She barely remembers to bring her shoes.

It's a Friday.

Not the usual day. But her feet take her there anyway.

Alexander is asleep when she gets there.

She supposes she makes enough of an entrance to wake him up, crashing into his shipping container of a home.

He jolts up instantly. He's always had a fast startle reflex. Sometimes she wonders why.

"Eliza?" he rasps.

"Alexander," she gasps in return, sinking down onto the floor. The atmosphere here is warm and calm, the way it always is. Eliza feels it soothe her racing heart, a warm balm to her conflicted soul.

"It's Friday, Eliza. And nighttime. What are you.."

"I thought I had more time, Alexander. But he wants it to be in two months. And then I'll be trapped forever, I'll never see or do anything, I'll never…" her voice breaks, continues on a sob. "I'll never see you again."

"Eliza," Alexander crawls tentatively next to her, still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. He takes her hand gently, rubs it with his thumb.

It feels soothing. It feels nothing like what that man's hand had felt like.

"What's wrong?

He's being cautious, she knows. Ever since their kiss a few days ago, he hadn't seemed to know how to act around her. He used to touch her in a friendly manner all the time.

Now he keeps his distance.

She doesn't want distance, not today.

So she crawls against him, tucks her head into the crevice between his shoulder and neck.

She feels safe here, she realized awhile ago. She feels at home, and not just because of the enclosed environment. It's Alexander, it's something about him.

Tonight, his hand passes up and down her arm, trying to soothe her without ever knowing what's wrong, and she is reminded of how ridiculous this whole situation is.

She is a high-class citizen; she had expected to be married off for as long as she can remember.

Yet the very though has sent her running to a shipping crate in a rusty ship, with an immigrant stowaway who made her feel butterflies in her stomach.

"Eliza, what's wrong?" Alexander whispers.

She heaves a heavy sigh.

"My father has found someone. Someone he wants – _expects_ me to marry."

She feels him tense instantly.

Does this bother him as well?

"Who?" he chokes out.

"Some trading partner. He's forty-two. He kissed me and I…"

She's sure she sees Alexander's hands clench into fists.

"Alexander, I've been so stupid." she sighs, turning her face into his neck.

He's warm and comfortable and she'd be content to stay here forever, would be happy if the outside world just ceased to exist.

She feels his head shake.

"You're not stupid, Eliza."

She scoffs. "Yes, I am. What was I thinking, that life would just go on like this forever? That I could keep sneaking out? That what Father made Angelica do somehow didn't apply to me? No, I was kidding myself. Alex, I got so caught up in.." she waves her hand between them, "whatever this is, that I forgot that it doesn't really change anything."

He swallows hard. "This?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Alex, being here is like being in our own world, cut off from the outside. But the world still exists. We still have to live in it, and when we do, I'll still be a Schuyler. And you'll still be…"

She can't finish, but he knows.

"Bastard orphan immigrant?" he says with a sarcastic chuckle.

She casts her eyes on her feet, plays with her fingers the way she used to when she first started coming here.

"I'm sorry."

There's a long pause, and then she feels his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes up to look at him.

His brown eyes are soft, warm, and she curses the world because she feels so much for this man, so much she can't quite name, but their universes will never collide. The world will never allow it.

"We're going to figure this out, Eliza. You don't have to… I mean…"he swallows hard. "There is a solution, and we will find it. "

It's a lie and they both know it, but her mind goes blissfully blank when his lips press softly against hers, when his tongue probes her mouth gently and her lips part.

They kiss softly for a few moments, and then he pulls her down onto his makeshift bed to rest.

"You said you had two months," he whispers. "We've got time. We'll….just don't give up yet, okay? We've got time."

 **Go, be in love**

 **I don't care, but don't ever pretend**

 **That we're both unaware**

' **Cause the truth is that you still permit me to be**

 **Close enough that I know you don't want me to leave**


	3. a drop in the ocean

**A/N: Let's just pretend I'm satisfied with the ending, m'kay? Hope you enjoy!**

 **I saw a world I never knew** **  
** **And through her eyes I suffered too** **  
** **In spite of all the things that were** **  
** **I started to believe in her**

And so they continue like this.

They pretend Eliza is not engaged.

They pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

Her new fiancé doesn't come around often and she's glad.

When he does, she comforts herself with thoughts of Alexander, of being on that ship in that warm container. Imagines her back against the wall on the right hand side. They'd recently moved there as he'd affixed a gun to the wall of the left hand side ("to guard my many valuable possessions," he'd said, earning a laugh). Alexander's shoulder would be pressed against hers and she'd lose herself in the works of the greatest minds of their time.

On one Tuesday, she arrives for their usual session, only to find Alexander crammed in a corner of the crate, his face pressed into his knees.

"Not today, Eliza," he mumbles. "I can't teach you today."

She creeps a bit closer, but he draws himself further away. She thinks she sees a flash of red, red that looks suspiciously like blood, staining the cloth covering his back.

"Alexander…"

"No, Eliza. Go."

She makes her way a bit closer, tries to pry the cloth away.

"Why don't you let me…"

"No. _Go_!" he shouts, and she jumps away in shock, scurries out onto the pier.

She's only able to keep herself away for less than 12 hours. She cannot close her eyes but to see the blood on his back, the pain in his eyes.

She gathers some salve, bandages, towels and blankets and all of her resolve, and makes her way at dawn to the pier.

She hears his moans before she sees him.

The moans of pain strike at her.

She finds him in the same corner, his eyes shut tightly, his face pale, and blood soaking his back.

She touches him gently on the shoulder.

"Alexander…"

He starts violently, causing another scream of pain.

His eyes are wild, afraid, as they finally focus on her.

"Eliza," he gasps out. "No. Go away."

She shakes her head.

"Not a chance."

She holds up the supplies she has brought with her.

"No, Eliza, you have to go. I can't…I can't teach you anything like this."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing I didn't come here to learn anything today. I came to dress those wounds, so lets get started."

She gently pulls him off the wall he's hunched into and finds his whole body damp.

"Alexander," she whispers. "Have you…has it been this bad since I left?"

He glances down, rattles in a shaky breath.

She shakes her head. "Then why didn't you tell me to stay? I could have helped."

"Couldn't let you….see me like this." The words are bitten off on gasps of pain. "Didn't…have anything to give you in this state."

She shakes her head. "What makes you think I needed you to have something to give me? Alexander, friends help each other. They don't need anything in return."

Eliza goes to work peeling the soiled cloth off Alexander's back. She knows it hurts, hears him gasp, but he doesn't protest.

"Is that what we are," he whispers. "Friends?"

The topic is dangerous, and both of them know it, so she leaves it for the moment.

It's forgotten when she works the cloth off anyway.

Alexander's back is covered in whip marks. Red, bloody, angry lines that crisscross the length of his thin back. In fact, his entire back is a mass of blood and torn flesh.

She gasps.

"Alexander, who…"

"It's not important," he mumbles.

"Do they always…."

"It's not usually this bad. They were picking on Laurens, and I was stupid enough to question them, and…"

" _Alex_ ," it's more of an inhalation than a phrase.

He reaches around and grabs for her hand, gives it a trembling kiss.

"Don't worry about me, little missy," he manages a grin. "It's not so bad. I could never seem to die."

She goes to work applying salve and bandages. She knows it hurts, because he grabs for a blanket and shoves it into his mouth to muffle the cries.

She takes to stopping every so often to comb a hand through his hair, breathe a phrase into his ear.

" _The best is the enemy of the good."_

" _Faith consists of believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe."_

Until finally, she has bandaged the whole of his back.

His forehead is sweaty, his eyes wide with pain She takes his face into her hands, strokes his cheeks with her thumbs, tries not to think about what she feels for this man.

Leaning towards him, she presses a kiss to his forehead.

He is much calmer now, she can see it. She leans him back against the wall, throws out his soiled bedding, collects water, careful to let nobody see her, in a basin. Fresh blankets are laid down; she divests him of his clothes and gently sponges his feverish, sweaty skin.

It's into the hours of afternoon when she finally lays him down, pliable and calm, to rest.

He raises an arm as if to invite her to join him and she obeys, giving no thought to how bad an idea this could be.

He's half-asleep, delirious from his experiences.

So she's not sure what to make of it when he gently rests his lips on hers.

" _I should like to lie at your feet and die in your arms,"_ he murmurs.

Eliza's heart nearly stops. He pulls back only enough to rest his head on the pillow she brought, very softly mumbling nonsense.

She catches only snatches, but she's sure that she hears one thing:

"Gotta tell John…gotta meet my Eliza…so in love with her, I am."

Her sisters corner her.

She was stupid enough not to change.

She has blood on her clothes.

They are worried.

She assures them it's not hers, but her assurances are not enough.

And she is so tired of keeping this secret, and they look at her with such care.

She heaves a great sigh.

"His name is Alexander Hamilton."

"Where's his family from?" Angelica's question makes her wince.

"Not around here."

"Where does he live?"

"By his work."

"Eliza…."

It's said in a warning tone. She's so tired. Alexander is going to be okay, and that fills her with a great relief and maybe makes her a little stupid.

"He works for Daddy."

"What?!"

"And he lives on one of his ships. I met him there. He's stowing away because he can't afford a place to live. He's from the Caribbean. He's an orphan, his family is dead. I've been going to visit him for the last eight months. He's taught me all about famous minds, US treaties, all the things Daddy said I was never to learn. He's an immigrant. And I love him."

The barrage of words is a shock to all, including her.

Her sisters are speechless.

They agree not to say a word, but they don't understand.

How could they? Eliza barely understands herself.

They don't talk about it.

She doesn't tell him what she heard.

But every meeting feels more intimate.

They don't feel like friends anymore.

She starts sneaking away at night, lying with him on his hard, makeshift bed.

Today, they talk about what they want.

She knows what he wants. A better life, a better future, not just for himself, but also for his country. His dreams are so big, it makes her feel small.

"What about you," he inquires softly. "What did you want to be?"

She gives a wry chuckle, shakes her head.

"That was never my choice, Alexander."

"But if you had to pick. What would it be?"

She chews her lip. She's never admitted this to anyone, but the secret feels safe with him.

"I always wanted to open up an orphanage," she confesses. "Help children get off the streets, make sure they're raised with love."

He's looking at her, and he's looking at her with such _love_ , it sets her pulse aflame.

"You're amazing," he whispers.

Before she knows it, she's lying down on a blanket, and Alexander is on top of her. He kisses down her neck as her hands card through his hair.

They are not friends.

They were never friends.

And this feels more right then anything in the world ever has.

His lips pass softly to the first button on her dress and stop.

She knows he's waiting for her.

That he will do nothing until she consents.

She loves him. He loves her. She makes a choice.

She brings her hands to the top of her dress and unlaces it.

"Eliza," his whisper is throaty and raw. "Are you sure?"

She isn't sure she's ever been surer of anything.

The ship rocks gently, and it's soft and calm as Alexander slowly takes her apart, and Eliza feels more deeply than she's ever felt in her life.

Afterward, they lie together, the blanket covering them, she knows beyond anything she's ever known, beyond what any great mind could ever teach her, that this is her place.

"Eliza," Alexander breaks the silence.

"I have…I have something for you."

"Alex, why…"

"For your birthday. I've had it for awhile, but I've been….waiting for the right time."

He presents a carved wooden box, delicate lines creating intricate designs on its hinged top.

Eliza looks inside and gasps.

On a bed of ripped book pages lies a beautiful ring.

"Alex," she breathes, rubbing her thumb over the jewelry.

It's copper, with the sides an intricate braided design, and the middle strand a silver twist.

It's handmade, and the most beautiful thing she has ever received.

She slips it with care out of the equally beautiful box and inspects it. It gleams in the dim light of the ship.

She casts a glance over at Alexander.

He's taken up her nervous habit of twisting his fingers together, his eyes cast down, cheeks red.

"You like it?" he mumbles.

"It's beautiful," she gasps. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever…Alex, how much…"

"Don't worry about that," he assures her. "I know someone. And it was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

She rolls the ring into her palm and closes her fingers around it. It's warm, like Alexander.

Slowly, she makes her way over to him and presses their lips together in a long, warm kiss.

Alexander has something to say, she can see it.

But the words seem to stick in his throat.

"Eliza, I…fuck. I'm not good at this."

"Usually you're such an orator," she teases gently, earning a small smile.

"I just…I know this makes no sense. You're supposed to be getting married, and I'm a homeless orphan, and you're a _Schuyler_ for fuck's sake…"

He passes a hand through his hair, something she's noticed he does when he's nervous.

"So this makes no sense, but I…I love you. And I have nothing to offer you but that. And this ring…it can mean whatever we want it to mean. It can mean that we have a future. Maybe not an easy one but…we have a future. If you want it."

She's speechless, truly speechless.

He had gone through all this for her; he had probably not eaten for weeks to buy her this. He loves her. He wants a future with her.

A future they both know they can never have.

But oddly, that seems unimportant right now. Everything that exists out of this shipping container seems unimportant. Everything outside of this feels like a lie, instead of the truth.

So for now, she lies to herself.

"Alex," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

The words come out faster, surer than she had expected.

"Will you marry me?"

The storm is bad today. Eliza is quietly packing, going to meet Alexander. She has little time, he will be expecting her.

A pounding at the door stops her. She opens it to see her bedraggled sister.

Peggy flies at her. She catches her little sister by the sleeves of her dress.

" 'Liza," Peggy gasps. "Daddy's selling the old ship. He's going down right now to inspect it and he's probably already there and he's going to find out!"

Panic was a feeling Eliza thought she knew.

She never did.

The trek down to the docks was an average of twenty minutes or so.

Today, Eliza estimates she made it in five.

It's not fast enough.

Alexander lies prone on the floor, with her father over him.

His eyes are full of terror.

Her fathers' are full of rage as he takes in her clothes, her books, and things pilfered from their house.

His whole body turns to face her, every muscle tense.

"Eliza, what the hell is this."

 _I am a Schuyler._

 _I am in love._

 _He loves me._

 _My job is to marry rich._

 _Alexander loves me._

 _Alexander wants to marry me._

 _I am a Schuyler._

"Daddy, you know Alexander Hamilton."

She steps into the packing crate that had felt more like home than any house ever had.

"He works for you. And he is who I want to marry."

He calls two people.

They each grab one of Alex's arms, hold him tight.

Then they bring the whip.

Eliza discovers another emotion, past fear, past terror, past anything she's ever felt.

She begs, she pleads, she bargains.

Her father doesn't listen.

She rushes to Alex.

He smiles and tells her not to worry.

She tries to wrestle the men off him. He calls another.

This one to hold her.

Alex screams.

The blood pours.

And then she remembers where it is.

She relaxes her arms, feigns submission.

The grip on her arms relaxes a bit.

That's all the leeway she needs.

The gun is out of the box and pointed at her father before she can fully comprehend what she's doing.

He turns his head slowly to look at her.

"Eliza?" The tone is questioning. Almost amused.

"Let him go." Her voice doesn't wobble.

 _She is a Schuyler_.

 _She doesn't care._

"Eliza, what are you doing?" Alexander's voice is exhausted. Pained. Still gentle.

"Let. Him. Go."

"You wouldn't shoot."

She cocks the gun expertly.

"Not if you let him go. If you don't…." she lets the threat hang there.

She can't quite read the expression on her father's face, but she knows what she's doing. The men drop Alex's arms and he collapses in a pile of bones and blood to the floor. She makes her way over to him, never dropping the gun.

"You don't know what you're doing, Eliza," he hisses (maybe he's right).

"You'll never see your sisters again."

"Yes, she will." The voices come from behind her and she could cry.

"Let her marry him, Father," Angelica steps forward. "Or you lose both of us."

" _Three_ of us," Peggy interjects. "We'll run away. We'll leave. There will be nobody left to carry on your precious legacy."

"You will not be allowed to leave," her father grasps for a semblance of control.

Eliza shakes her head. "You cannot guard us, every moment of every day, for the rest of our lives. We will leave. And you will have nothing."

Her father's shoulders slump in something that feels like defeat. A strangled noise she doesn't quite catch comes out, but she thinks (hopes) it sounds like "my daughters."

"I am not asking you for anything, Father." Eliza's voice comes out calmer than she feels.

"I don't want money, I don't want anything from you. I just want to be able to marry who I love."

Her father lets out a pained groan, like this is hurting him. "Why must you love….him?"

It's not an unreasonable question. She's asked herself that many times. She's still not sure she has a good answer.

But if she had to guess, it's probably because he sees her like nobody else ever has.

He trusts her. He believes in her.

And that's enough.

She's not naïve enough to think that her problems are solved by holding her father at gunpoint. Not even with her sisters' help. But he allows them to bring Alexander to a hospital.

He allows Eliza to pay for it.

He allows all three sisters to sit by his side.

Eliza feels Angelica and Peggy take her hands and smiles. They will help her. They will be okay.

And then Alex wakes and without a word, Eliza slides her ring onto his hand.

And he smiles.

And she is a Schuyler.

She is a Schuyler who will marry a homeless, orphan immigrant.

She is a Schuyler with pride.

She will be a Hamilton with pride.

And as the sun rests on the tiny hospital room, Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton knows that that will be enough.

 **When the world turned upside down** **  
** **And the earth and sky changed around** **  
** **All the whispers of the possible became clear and loud** **  
** **When the world turned upside down**


End file.
